


A Piece of Wood

by of_raven_wings



Series: Darcy Lewis Smut Week Challenge [3]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: And angst, Darcy Lewis Smut Week, F/M, because i cannot leave the angst alone it seems, is smut, what happens when you lock loki and darcy in a basement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-28
Updated: 2013-11-28
Packaged: 2018-01-02 21:10:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1061685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/of_raven_wings/pseuds/of_raven_wings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darcy and Loki manage to get locked into a basement while on a case.  </p><p>Correction: Loki manages to lock himself and Darcy into a basement while on a case.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Piece of Wood

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Darcy Lewis Smut Week. Prompt: locked in.

The door closes.

Darcy whirls, her bag falling from her hands, its contents scattering over the floor.  Three concrete steps lead up to the small platform the door opens onto.  Her steps echo hollowly as she ascends each one.

She pushes against the door.  There is no handle on this side, nothing but smooth, cold metal.  She heard the lock engage, and she knows that the door won’t open, but she tries anyway, pushing until she feels a muscle cramp in her lower back.

The door doesn’t open.

Resting her forehead against the metal, she closes her eyes, counts to ten.  Focuses on her breathing. Visualises a safe place.  All tricks that Bruce taught her when it had become apparent even to him that she was having trouble holding her temper around Loki.  Well, it had kind of been obvious to everyone when she flung a decanter at Loki’s head in the middle of a staff meeting.  Tony’s still docking her pay to compensate for the scotch she wasted.

When she finally turns back to the room, she feels calm.  And as soon as she sees Loki, all of the visualising and counting and breathing counts for nothing, because she’s furious all over again.  Her fingers twitch, and she knows that if there had been anything within reach, Loki would be wearing it now as a hat.  A broken hat.

Loki, in turn, is paying absolutely no attention to her or to the door.  He’s on the far side of the basement poking around on the dusty shelves.  And - _of course_ \- he’s touching _everything_.

“Didn’t the incident with the silver egg thing teach you anything?”  Darcy asks.  She’s taken to thinking of most of what happens with Loki as incidents.  The cave incident.  The scotch incident.  The oops-I-touched-this-and-now-I’m-you incident.  That one, she doesn’t like to think about much.  She still dreams occasionally of being him, of the feeling of him coming.  Wakes every time soaking wet.

She slides her phone out of her pocket.  No signal down here.  _Of course._   “Loki?”

He picks up a thing that looks something like the kind of lumpen vase a first grader might make.  Peers inside.  “Hm?”

Counting.  Breathing, Visualising.  “Did you happen to notice that there was a piece of wood holding the door open?”

Loki put the ugly vase back on the shelf.  Wipes his hand on his trousers and picks up the piece of wood that he’d propped against a low shelf.  “It was the perfect length for getting to the back of these shelves.  Good thinking, there.”

“Except for the part where it was _propping the door open_.  You know, so it doesn’t lock and trap us down here?”

Loki looks unperturbed.  “It’s a piece of wood.  But if you’re so attached to it here.”  He holds it out with a flourish, as though he’s handing her a bouquet of roses.

“I don’t want the fucking piece of wood!”  Darcy lashes out, knocks the wood from his hand.  And now she’s thought the word wood so many times that it’s starting to sound weird, not even like a real word.  And isn’t that just the cherry on the cake of this _incident_?  “You see that door?”

Loki spreads his hands out in a gesture that Darcy’s ever-so-helpful brain translates as: _of course I see the door, you idiot._

“Do I have to use small words?”  Darcy grinds her teeth together.  Focuses on her happy place.  Which her brain decides to supply with bonus Loki, his hands spread out in that annoying gesture.  She pushes the image away.  As much as she can.  “Door closes, door locks.”  She speaks slowly, enunciating each syllable carefully.  Irritation shows on Loki’s face.  _Good_.  “We’re fucking locked in the basement, okay?”

She sinks down onto the step, swearing again as her tailbone thuds against the cold concrete.  Great, she’s the only person who’ll come back from a mission with a broken ass.  Wouldn’t that just be peachy, on top of all the fuckery that’s already happening.

She makes a mental note that she owes her swear jar at home about fifty bucks.

“So unlock the door?” Loki asks, turning back to the shelves.  “There will be a spare key around somewhere.  Isn’t that the way of things?”

“I don’t think people tend to keep spare keys for their secret basements of hiding all the shit that they’re not supposed to own.”  Darcy pulls her phone out again, holds it up and waves it around, trying to find a place where she gets reception.  “The stuff that, as usual, we’re only supposed be confirming the existence of, and not touching.”

Loki turns around, a truly hideous sculpture in his hands.  Darcy’s not sure if it’s supposed to be a cat or a bucket.  “None of this is magic, if you’re worried about that.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, you could have said that before.”

Loki shrugs a shoulder.  “I wanted to see what he hid away down here.”

“So we’re sent on a mission to confirm a collection of _magical_ artefacts, and we find a bunch of stuff that isn’t magical and you want to look at it anyway?”

Another shrug.  “Some Midgardians are interesting.”  He puts the cat-bucket-thing back on the shelf.  Crosses the basement in an annoyingly small number of steps, and damn those long legs of his.  

Leaning over Darcy, he presses a hand to the door.  This close, she can smell the musk of him, and something else, something light and sweet.  Something familiar.

“You’ve been spending time with Lauren again?” Darcy asks.

Loki looks down at her.  “She reminds me of some of the women of Asgard.  She’s quiet, and she’s clever.  And she knits.”

“Oh, she knits.  Is that all a girl has to do to get into your pants?”  Darcy flushes as soon as the words are out.  Because, like it not, she’s been in his pants twice now in separate incidents.  Not that either events have happened, for all that Loki talks about them.

Green light flares around Loki’s fingers.  He raises his eyebrows, his lips already curving into a triumphant smile.  “And see, the door-“  He blinks.  The green light pulses again.

“Does nothing?” Darcy asks.  “Wow.  That _is_ amazing.”

Loki moves closer to the door.  In the process, he manages to both move closer to Darcy, and align his groin so it’s basically at her eye level.  She looks away, but not quickly enough not to notice that he looks like he’s gone commando today.  She wonders if that was meant as a special treat for the clever and quiet Lauren.

And _God_ , she wonders why she even cares.  This is Loki, and it’s not like she’s actually interested in him.  I mean, sure he’s kind of hot, and he’s kind of awesome in bed, but it’s not like there aren’t other guys, and-

Darcy breaks her train of thought, aware that Loki is staring down at her, faintly perplexed.  “What?”

“The door is locked,” Loki says.

“No shit, Sherlock.”  Hm, her swear jar was going to be _full_ when she gets home.  If she gets home.  “I think I’ve been telling you that.”

Loki sits down next to her on the step.  His crotch is thankfully away from her face now, but he’s sitting so close that she can feel his body heat, smell the musk of his skin.  “My magic cannot open it.  Which means that the owner has cast a counter-spell on the door.”

“Or that the door itself is a magic object.”  Darcy rakes her hair back from her face.  “Shit.  Well, I guess we can confirm our investigation.  If we don’t suffocate down here first.”

“Oh, there is adequate ventilation,” Loki says, oh so helpfully pointing out the vents high on the walls.  “I suspect he didn’t not wish his precious items to grow mould.  The air down here is quite clean and pure, in fact.”

“Yay?”  Darcy stands, and crosses the room, her eyes moving over the shelves.  “I don’t even get why any of this stuff is down here, anyway.”

“Maybe they belonged to his family.”  There’s an unexpected sadness in Loki’s voice when he speaks.  “Maybe some belonged to him when he was a child, and dreamed of a happier life.”

“And maybe he bludgeoned all of his enemies to death with them and keeps them as souvenirs,” Darcy says acidly.  “He’s not exactly a hero.”

Loki looks down at his hands.

“Anyway, I don’t have any cell coverage down here.  So I guess we just have to wait until someone comes and rescues our asses.  Yet again.”  Darcy sits down on the floor, leans back against a shelf.  Something rattles behind her, and she reaches back, withdraws a bottle of red wine caked with dust.  “Hey, there’s alcohol!”

“I’m not certain that drinking is a good idea.”

“Screw good ideas.”  Darcy holds out the bottle.  “C’mon, magic it open?  I’ll share.”

Loki heaves a sigh, but he takes the bottle from her.

 

#

 

Two bottles of wine later, the room is spinning pleasantly around Darcy.

True, she didn’t drink even half of that, maybe not even a third.  Bloody Loki tossed back the stuff like it was water, and of course it didn’t affect him at all.  _His loss_ , Darcy thinks.  She may be locked in a basement, and she may be looking down the barrel of getting chewed out yet again by Fury, but right now she doesn’t care at all.

Loki is sitting on the other side of the basement, legs stretched out in front of him.  He’s wearing yet another one of his tailored suits, the jacket and trousers both dusty from the basement now.  At least this time Darcy’s cover wasn’t a maid.  No, this time she was a florist, and at least got to wear something not made out of nylon.

And since when does she even care about clothes, anyway?  Darcy has always been the kind of girl who just threw on whatever was comfortable.  Sure, she liked dressing up sometimes, but she was always more than happy to get out of those clothes and into sweats as soon as she got home.

She flops down on her back on the floor.  The concrete is cold beneath her, reminding her that she’s only wearing a light dress.  It feels all too damn much like the cave incident, and she focuses on thoughts of fires, of hot chocolate, of snuggling before the fire with hot chocolate and-

“What are you thinking?” she asks Loki.  She just wants to stop that train of thought, so she just says the first thing that comes out of her mouth.  And in typical Darcy style, it’s something supremely stupid.

Loki looks at her.  Is she imagining it, or are his eyes just slightly red?  Maybe the wine was more potent than she thought.  

“God, just ignore me,” she says.  She closes her eyes; the room still spins, and she smiles.  “I know what you think of me.”

“And what is that?”  Loki’s voice comes from close by, and she opens her eyes to see him suddenly lying next to her.

“Dude, that’s just wrong,” she says.  “You owe me like a year of my life.  Or at least some chocolate.”

He laughs.  That damn laugh of his is just as bad as his smile.  Why couldn’t he just be ugly, or have a horrible nasal voice or something?

“You think I’m an idiot,” Darcy says, closing her eyes again.  “You don’t think anything of humans in general, and I’m pretty much somewhere way down on the ladder for you.  Like, humans are all walking in the sun being happy stupid people, and I’m down grubbing in the dirt.  And for some idiotic reason, you requested me as a training partner, and now you’re stuck with me.  Well, except that you’re not, because I expect if you asked Fury, he’s reassign you to someone else.  Gotta keep the ex-god pleased, or else he’ll try to take over the world again and all of that.”

Silence for a long moment.  She cracks an eye open, expecting to see Loki glaring at her.  Instead, he’s staring at the ceiling, his expression thoughtful.

“I do not think of Midgardians - of _humans_ , so.  Least of all you, Darcy.”

“Oh really?  Then why do you always treat me as though I’m something you want to scrape off the sole of your shoe?”

He props himself up on an elbow, looks down at her.  It’s disconcerting, and she realises that he’s moved close enough that she can smell him again.  And why does she even know what he smells like, anyway?  Why does she feel like she could pick that scent out in a thousand different ones?

“Tell me, Darcy, that night.  After we…changed.  What did you do when you were alone?”

Darcy flushes, knows he can see it.  “Um.  Nothing.  What did you do?”

“As you requested.  I neither undressed you, nor looked at any part of you.  I sat in a chair in your study and I read a book.  Made some notes.  You’ll find them if you look.”

“You read one of my books?” Darcy asks.  “Um, which one?”

“You’ll have to find it.  But I must say, I found it most…intriguing.  There are many things I would ask you about it.”

“So ask.”

“When you find it.”  He flashes her a quick smile.  “So…nothing?  Remembering that I forbade you nothing.”

So he had been aware of that.  Darcy swallows hard.  She doesn’t want to tell him, but the room is still spinning, and the words are crowding up in her throat.  “I wasn’t going to look, but it was just… _there_.  It’s not really that easy to ignore.”

Loki raises an eyebrow.  “You touched yourself?”

Darcy turns away from him, curls on her side.

She hears him move, and when he speaks, his lips are close to her ear, so close that she can feel the rush of his breath against her skin.  “And how did it feel?”

“It felt…”  He moves again, pressing his body up against her back.  His hardness presses against her behind, and then he trails his fingers down along the outside of her thigh, moves them across to where her thighs press against each other, trails them higher again.  And god help her, she’s already wet, her hips already canting forward even though he’s barely touched her.  “It felt good.  Different.”  His hand has stopped moving an inch from the apex of her thighs.  He splays his fingers over her thigh, his thumb brushing in small circles.  “You really didn’t do anything?”

“You asked me not to.”

“And you obeyed?  I didn’t think obedience was exactly your strong suit.  You do what you want and all of that.”

He laughs, the sound shivering down her spine.  She presses back against his hardness, and is gratified by a soft hum from deep in his throat.  “I will obey orders, if it pleases me.”

“Like not touching the magic objects?”

“Like not touching.”  He trails his fingers slowly upwards, stops again.  

Darcy closes her eyes again, tries to marshall her thoughts.  The wine is beginning to wear off a little, though the position of Loki’s hand is still making it extraordinarily difficult to think clearly.

“What the hell are we doing, Loki?” she asks.  “We just fuck when you want to, and then ignore each other the rest of the time?”

His weight against her is abruptly gone, and when she looks over her shoulder, she sees that he’s back sitting on the other side of the basement.

“I seem to recall you throwing things at me,” he says dryly.  “Unless that counts as ignoring someone?”

Darcy hauls herself up, kneels next to him.  “Seriously, what are we doing?  I mean, I’m pretty sure there’s something here.”  She waves her hand vaguely through the air between them.  “Or am I just crazy?”  Loki says nothing.  “Okay, I’m just crazy, then.  And you’re probably banging Lauren and wishing that maybe you were-“

Whatever her brain has been planning on adding to that spiel, it is silenced by the crush of Loki’s mouth against hers.  The rooms spins, and when it settles, she’s cradled in Loki’s lap, her breasts crushed against his chest.  He holds her tight, his grip on her waist so hard that she suspects that she’ll have bruises.  Bruising, too, are his kisses, his lips and tongue almost brutal as they claim hers.

Darcy rocks against him, acutely aware that all that there is between them is the fabric of her underwear and his trousers.  His hands leave her waist, and he drags his fingers up her thighs, pressing hard enough that there’s some pain with the pleasure.  His lips leave hers, and she lets her head fall back as he kisses his way down her throat, sucks hard at the place where her shoulder meets her neck, bites at the skin over her collarbones.

And then his fingers are hooking into the elastic of her underwear, and he’s tearing the flimsy fabric away.  He eases her away from him with a hand on her hip, his other hand moving directly to her core.  There’s no teasing this time, just the hard drive of his fingers deep into her as his mouth comes down on hers again.  Darcy whimpers, pushing back against his fingers as hard as she can.

She’s the one who unbuckles his belt, unzips his trousers, frees his cock from its confines.  He’s rock hard in her hand, and she employs as little gentleness as he did.  As she pumps her fist, he pushes up against her, the combined movements so harsh that they must border on pain for him, too.  Darcy pulls back, gazes into his face.  His eyes are unfocused, his lips parted, his breath coming hard.  She twists her thumb over his glans, feels the drops of precum gathering there.  Waits until he focuses on her, then lifts her thumb to her mouth, licks it clean.

He grabs her again, pulls her back into his lap.  Lines himself up with her, and then pulls her down hard, sinking deep in a single thrust.  There’s some pain with the stretch, but Loki gives Darcy no chance to adjust, just begins thrusting deep and hard.  His mouth moves back to her neck, sucking and biting, and he slides a hand between them, fingers circling over her clit.

It’s all too much, and Darcy feels her orgasm building almost immediately.  She wants to slow down, to make it last.  She tries to pull away slightly, but Loki just sinks his teeth into her skin, pulls her down even harder, his fingers moving faster.  And then she’s crashing hard into an orgasm so intense that it rides that pleasure-pain barrier again.  Her cries echo around the basement as Loki reaches his own fulfilment.  Unlike her, he is oddly silent, but she feels his teeth break through the skin of her shoulder, drawing blood.

Loki remains buried within her as their heartbeats slow, their breathing returns to normal.  There’s something almost sordid about it, fucking - and she can’t call what they just did _anything_ else - in a basement, still mostly clothed.  It feels like the kind of thing that you did when you were trying to hide a relationship.

Is Loki trying to hide this, whatever the hell it was?

A sound outside the locked door, and Darcy pulls away from Loki.  She looks around, but she can’t see her underwear anywhere.  Gives them up as a lost cause, and smooth down her skirt, fixes her hair as best as she can with her fingers.  In her peripheral vision, she can see Loki rearranging himself.

The door opens, revealing Clint.  “You guys really need to stop touching things,” he says.

“That’s what I keep saying,” Darcy says, forcing a grin.  

Clint frowns slightly.  “Are you okay?”

“Fine.  Just needing fresh air.”  She doesn’t look back, just gathers up her handbag and what contents she can find, moves past Clint, leaving both he and Loki behind.

She moves through the house, hearing the other SHIELD agents moving through the rooms.  She smiles to Natasha, keeps going until she’s out of the house, walking down the street.

She manages not to cry until she’s a block away.

 


End file.
